


a short story of almost something

by Oaid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet, M/M, Self-Harm, bit of angst, kind of, trigger - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaid/pseuds/Oaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>some things just don't need to be questioned, because you already know the answer, without words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a short story of almost something

**Author's Note:**

> very short little drabble. because I can. I'm not sure if this should be continued, but if you like it, please tell me?

There are certain things you never question. Things that just don't need to be questioned, because you know the answer, already, and just voicing it would make the whole thing crumble down even more. That's how Stiles felt, about this.

Ever since he walked into Derek's loft, ranting and raving about the fact their, _his_ , stupid fucking Alpha wasn't doing anything to help. That the Alpha Pack was planning something, Stiles knew it. He had a sixth sense about evil shit.

  
But, what he found wasn't what he thought. Derek wasn't brooding in the corner, no, he was sitting on his bed with his head hung low. Dark hair falling into his face, hands shaking a bit, too. Where it was holding a little shard of glass, digging into his skin from his bruising grip on it. How it didn't shatter was beyond Stiles.

  
Derek had to know that Stiles had come in, he had to, but the Alpha werewolf didn't even lift his head. Just sat there, no acknowledgement except the fact that Stiles just _knew_. He didn't know what Derek was trying to do, though. Not even sure if he should approach. Farther into the loft, he moved, going directly to the sink. Grabbing a rag, wetting it, and an extra, thicker one to grab the glass.

  
Just sitting there, Derek looked so fucking vulnerable, so young. His face gave away more than Stiles had ever seen it, kneeling in front of the Alpha, gently prying his fingers off the glass. They went, willingly, because Stiles couldn't do it by his own sheer force. Rubbing soothing circles along Derek's knuckles, wiping away the blood on his hands. Around the wounds that were now closing, finally, with the riddance of the glass.

  
They didn't talk, but when Stiles was finished, grabbing the glass and tossing it. Putting a steady hand on Derek's shoulder, rubbing, comforting. When he was finished, they both had a silent agreement not to question, not to judge, and on Derek's part, to try not to do it again. To call someone, call _Stiles_.

 

Even if he would heal.

 


End file.
